


Bitra's Burn

by Diglossia



Category: Dragonriders of Pern series
Genre: Crime, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-22
Updated: 2010-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:25:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diglossia/pseuds/Diglossia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Bitran Seven have been targeted, an unknown group attacking them in the most unthinkable way: with firestone in Benden Weyr. Buthaynah searches for answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Buthaynah!"

Buthaynah paused in her packing and turned to look at the man that had called her name. She smiled out of habit in a way that contrasted starkly with her current mood.

"K'leel. It's good to see you," she said and resumed tying up the last of her bundles. She wiped a strand of hair from her face. "Whatever are you doing here?"

K'leel waved Buthaynah's pleasantries off and moved to help her pick up the heavy bundle. "Why are you leaving the Weyr?" he asked firmly, looking her in the eye. Buthaynah looked away and took the rope bound hide from him.

"You are not my ride, K'leel, so there is no reason I should tell you _why_ I am doing anything. I have no need to tell you of my personal choices."

K'leel frowned down at the smaller woman. "Aren't I your friend? Can you at least tell me where you are going?"

Buthaynah creased her brow and glanced out of the weyr she had made her temporary quarters in, looking out to the blue dragon that waited there. She had a long journey and she had little interest in wasting time talking to someone she would likely see again.

"Home, K'leel. I'm going back to Bitra."

ØØØ

Lady Misra having been deposed in a rather drastic way, the Bitran Lord Holder was anxious to return his Hold and holdings back to order. Misra had owned one of Bitra's largest holdings for ten Turns. She was well-liked for her fair dealings and clear contracting, though she had recently fallen into disfavor for her liberal stances in regards to dragonriders. It was rumored that Misra had dragonriders at her beck and call who could ferry her from Bitra to all parts of Pern, often carrying lucrative goods such as agenothree equipment and High Reaches coal, goods that would cost the average holder hundreds of marks to go the same distance. There were rumors that she would be replaced for outrageous actions but they were stilled for a time with the return of Thread and the beginning of the new Pass. Then, her actions came to be seen as clever agreements and self-protection, two traits highly prized in Bitran society. It was hoped that Lady Misra would rule through most of the Pass- she was very young, after all, hardly twenty-nine Turns- and thus keep the dragonriders under close contract for Turns to come.

But that did not happen. Misra was murdered in her own home, along with two foster daughters and several drudges. Misra had no heir and her maidservant, Varra, was left to sort through her documents and hides, as well as deal with the funeral arrangements and various 'relatives' who miraculously all showed up within a sevenday of the funeral. Varra was swamped with work and, with no one to trust, she sent a message to Benden Weyr asking for the return of one of Lady Misra's favorite pupils, Buthaynah.

The message was sent by private runner, Varra not foolish enough to send it by drums, thus alerting all of Pern of Bitra's misfortune. It arrived later than had been expected but, fortunately, the wax seal was unbroken when it reached Headwoman Renni.

Varra knew nothing of the recent horrifying events at Benden Weyr. She had no reason to expect anything amiss when her message came into Buthaynah's hands.

ØØØ

Buthaynah nodded her hello to the bluerider waiting outside for her. Several kitchen helpers had offered her their assistance and everything she owned was already packed aboard Memoth when she brought her personal bag, a loose wherhide bag filled with soapsand packets, sewing needles, and several other things that had not been destroyed when her quarters had exploded days before.

Memoth looked bored when she arrived, his eyes whirling a pleasant blue-green under the innermost layer of eyelids. Buthaynah glanced at his rider, an attractive enough dark-skinned man with brown-black eyes, and suppressed the urge to dismiss him instantly. She blinked, knowing her presumption- that the man was generally stupid, no less - would not show through her face. Buthaynah had fallen a bit out of practice in guarding her features but, once at Bitra, all but the smallest child would read her expression perfectly, knowing every last thing she was thinking if she did not guard more carefully. There was simply no need for such preventative measures at the Weyr; true emotion was valued for itself as were frank honesty and sociability, none of which she would need when she returned to Bitra.

Buthaynah only vaguely heard Memoth's rider's assurances about flying between before Memoth launched himself off of the Weyr ledge and began to pump his strong wings. They flew up to the Star Stones, Memoth's rider saluting the Watchrider for a second in time before they entered _between_ and the world went black.

Buthaynah heard a forlorn sign as they traveled through blackness, though whether its progenitor was herself or Memoth's rider, she did not know.

ØØØ

_She is gone_, Rimath announced quietly.

Ghaliyah frowned and worried her lip a bit. Buthaynah had left without telling her when or why. At dinner the evening before they had sat together of course, it being a break day, no Thread and little help needed in the kitchens, and Ghaliyah remembered Buthaynah mentioning that she would be leaving the Weyr to take care of business elsewhere but that had been all Buthaynah had said. There had been no mention of where she was going or when she would return.

This was a very bad sign indeed, Buthaynah being quiet about her affairs. Ghaliyah scratched at her right eyebrow and thought through the possibilities again. It was feasible that Buthaynah was off to negotiate redwort and fruit tithes from Benden Weyr's Holds but that was the duties of the Weyrwomen and Favanna had not mentioned anything about there being a shortage among the stores, though that too was hardly something Favanna would deem worthy of mentioning. Buthaynah could be going to deal with family issues- perhaps an older member had passed away- but Buthaynah had little contact with her family, everyone was aware of that. Josef had left his stamp on the poor girl and Buthaynah had long avoided the parents that had wanted to attach her to _that_ man. Ghaliyah doubted Buthaynah was returning home for a funeral.

Ghaliyah raked her hair back and winced as her wrist protested the rough movement. She hissed at it, as though it was the cause of all her problems of late, though it had been a freak accident (well, not an accident at all but as of yet Ghaliyah had no other name for the incident that had caused the destruction several Weyrs, almost all of which just _happened_ to belong to her and the other Bitran expatriates) that had sprained her tiny wrist. Rimath whistled a sorrowful note. Ghaliyah grinned at the dragon's weak memory, doubting that Rimath even remembered the disaster.

_You remember and that is enough for the both of us_, Rimath murmured, blowing hot air on her rider. Ghaliyah smacked Rimath's foreleg playfully, making Rimath wuffle more hot air on her.

"You stink of herdbeast," Ghaliyah groaned as Rimath pushed her muzzle against her back, sending Ghaliyah into the sandy floor. Ghaliyah wrinkled her nose at the green and kissed her muzzle before going back to her thoughts.

It was unlikely that Buthaynah was out on Weyr business and even less likely that she was attending to sick or dying family. Perhaps Buthaynah had found someone outside of the Weyr? It was not impossible, though certainly improbable. Buthaynah entertained plenty of men here, at Benden.

So why had she left? What could possibly take a woman who was nothing without the Weyr away?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K'leel scrubbed his face in one of the washbasins set outside the third tier of weyrs. He splashed water on his face before drying it with a soft fur towel, moaning with pleasure at the smooth feel of the cloth. He grabbed his toiletries and made his way up the stairs to M'jid's weyr where he had been staying ever since the explosion that had collapsed his and Pirveth's weyr and killed their friend and fellow Bitran expat, M'kai.

K'leel scrubbed his face in one of the washbasins set outside the third tier of weyrs. He splashed water on his face before drying it with a soft fur towel, moaning with pleasure at the smooth feel of the cloth. He grabbed his toiletries and made his way up the stairs to M'jid's weyr where he had been staying ever since the explosion that had collapsed his and Pirveth's weyr and killed their friend and fellow Bitran expat, M'kai.

M'jid was distraught, so much so that he and Glimath had been grounded by H'mrit, his wingleader, until the Weyrhealer deemed them capable of more than gliding. M'jid was a _between_ risk in his current state. He had been close to M'kai and K'leel had known of his feelings for the man. K'leel had chosen to share weyrs with the man more to mask his concern for the pained rider than actual need. There were others in the Weyr who would truly welcome handsome K'leel and comely Pirveth; the greenrider could have stayed with many a man.

But M'jid needed him just to keep going, to wake him in the morning and make sure that the greenrider remembered to eat, and, until such time as the true perpetrators behind the recent incident at Benden Weyr were discovered- and hopefully the reasons behind it as well- K'leel would stay with him. Because maybe, just maybe, K'leel needed M'jid, too.

ØØØ

Galla scrawled the words out on the thin hide, seeming not to notice T'yib looking over her shoulder from his place by the entryway to her quarters. He peered at the words, more in confusion over her unfamiliar handwriting than in difficulty with the reading skill, and was uncomfortable to recognize the subject of her report: M'kai, rider of green Dyath, who had been killed several days before. T'yib looked at the Weyrwoman curiously. Her eyes were dry and her brow was set in a deep furrow. It made the bluerider wonder if she really cared about M'kai or if she was merely intent on her work.

"All riders are important, regardless of their dragon's color," Galla said quietly. She paused her stylus atop the piece of hide and clucked her tongue. "Can I help you, T'yib, rider of blue Fiyaleth?"

T'yib swallowed, taken slightly aback by the Weyrwoman's calm and imposing demeanor. As a Search rider, he had often had to come in contact with minor and occasionally major Lord Holders but Weyrwoman Galla, bonded to gold Biheth, the senior queen dragon of Benden Weyr, was a far more daunting figure to him.

T'yib took a deep breath and looked at Galla, his eyes focused on her cheekbones.

"I would like to inform M'kai's former hold of his-" T'yib winced. "-death, as well as his relatives, if I may."

Galla turned back to her report.

"A drum message should be sufficient, bluerider. You need not exert yourself."

"I would like to tell them in person."

Galla raised an eyebrow.

"I was not aware you two were so close," she said blandly. "Would not M'jid prefer to tell them?"

T'yib's breathing quieted the slightest bit before returning to normal, his voice refusing to waver. "M'jid is not well enough to do so, Weyrwoman. I would gladly take his place."

"Hmm," Galla said, putting a finger to her chin, the stylus clutched between it and her thumb. "Bluerider, I would be more inclined to grant your request if you were more honest with me. I tire of your verbal meanderings. What is it you really want, T'yib?" She turned back to look at him, her eyes boring calmly into his skull.

"I speak no untruth to you, Weyrwoman. I dare not," T'yib returned cautiously.

Galla laughed, a soft, ladylike titter.

"And, yet, you are not telling me the whole truth. Why is it that you, a man whose lover, dragon, and closest friends were all senselessly attacked and injured, have come to me completely calm, asking for permission to make a trip home? T'yib, what logic is it that brings you to me? I am not your Wingleader."

T'yib said nothing. Galla waved her hand irritably.

"Fine, bluerider. Leave the Weyr. Take the news of M'kai's death to his family. Shells, take all of your friends with you when you go. Do what you will when you're back on Bitran soil, I can't stop you. Just be back for Threadfall."

T'yib thanked her and saluted the Weyrwoman before turning stiffly and leaving the room.

"It's not like I can keep you safe," Galla muttered, watching him go. She sniffed and turned back to her report.

ØØØ

T'yib climbed the stairs next to the Bowl slowly, his hands buried deep in his pockets. Galla's words confused him, their meaning incredibly unclear. Was she angry at him for wanting to talk to M'kai's family or was there something more bothering her? The Weyr had been under attack, certainly, but T'yib had been told that the men responsible had been caught and that there was no further danger.

T'yib had never been good at holding anger or fear. His father had disliked him throughout his childhood, blaming him for every mishap in the holding and criticizing him constantly, calling him lazy, effeminate, and unambitious. Tayyib had learned to simply ignore his father's verbal assaults, brushing his heavy blows away with daydreams and calm thoughts so that they barely stung. By the time he was thirteen Turns and had entered into his first romantic relationship with another boy, that dislike had solidified into avid scorn and disgust. Every Turn the relationship between father and son had grown worse and every Turn Tayyib had become number to his father's scornful attitude.

It made the recent attacks easy to ignore. They were one more hardship that he couldn't control and so he focused on S'haiyl and Hamseth's recovering health and happiness instead. He could not change what had happened and he hadn't the means to find the minds behind the plot to destroy Benden Weyr's Bitran riders. The most he could do was to bring the news to M'kai's family while M'jid was grounded.

T'yib heard the sounds of two men arguing as he climbed the fourth flight of stairs to the Bowl. He thought to continue on as the fighting had the sound of a rather violent lover's spat but stopped when he recognized one of the men's voices: L'yown, green Razith's rider, one of his former flight instructors. He looked to his right, his left leg poised to climb the next step, and found a pair of inscrutable hazel eyes watching him. T'yib recognized B'vlan, brown Yimth's tall, portly rider, standing not ten centimeters from L'yown, who was looking up at the brownrider angrily. T'yib stilled, anger beginning to boil within him as he decided that B'vlan meant L'yown harm. The brownrider was leering over L'yown, the two obviously in the middle on an argument and T'yib could see that B'vlan with his greater height and weight could easily overpower L'yown.

He called out to them cheerfully to mask his worry and anger. B'vlan's eyes flashed for a second but then he sighed, his hand stilling on L'yown's arm. L'yown narrowed his eyes at B'vlan before acknowledging the blonde rider standing behind him. He turned, scowling at T'yib.

"L'yown," T'yib stalled, not having had sufficient time to prepare an acceptable excuse.

"Bluerider," L'yown responded crossly, either not recognizing his former student or annoyed enough to not care.

"Can I talk to you alone for a moment?" T'yib asked, his eyes following B'vlan as the heavy-set rider let go of L'yown's arm sighing and walked back into his weyr. L'yown's expression soured even more. T'yib began to doubt that his interruption had been a good idea.

"Why? You have no business with me," L'yown snapped, loud enough for everyone- had there been anyone- nearby to hear. T'yib's heart skipped a beat when an awful thought flashed through his mind: that L'yown was angry at him for stopping his and B'vlan's argument.

"I-" T'yib began but L'yown cut him off.

"Look," L'yown said fervently, his eyes shifting as he took in their surroundings. "Your weyrmates with S'haiyl, right?" T'yib nodded, confused. "And both of you just got attacked. Don't try to sell me this runnerdung about it being an accident. I'm not stupid," L'yown said quickly. "Dyath was killed. Hamseth was attacked. Look at it from my point of view: one of the top five most-sought after greens is dead and another's rider is injured. Do you know how bad this looks for me, bluerider? I'll tell you: bad, really, really bad. They were both in competition with Razith and every sharding other greenrider knows it. I'm thinking your pretty little greenrider didn't tell you about that nasty little fact since you started sharing furs again but for a while there he was some well-wanted meat around here."

"I simply wanted to ask you a question-"

L'yown jerked his head in a bare semblance of a shake, cutting T'yib off.

"Well, don't. Razith and I are getting enough odd looks as it is and we're too old to be switching Weyrs over a greenfight. Shells, man, don't you understand? You can't talk to me. _Ever_. If anyone, _anyone_ in this blasted Weyr who doesn't like me sees me talking to you or sees Razith so much as look in your dragon's direction, we're through. I'm not going through this again just because some pretty green couldn't stay with her weyrmate."

L'yown winced and ran his hand through his hair which T'yib realized for the first time was thinning. Perhaps the greenrider had a point. An awful, calculating point.

"I don't mean to be so harsh, T'yib," he said slowly, as though weighing his words carefully. "But things are getting very…strange… around here and it's not the first time something's happened to a green or her rider because she was competition. I'm glad you're with S'haiyl and I'm glad Hamseth's next flight won't be contested, and I'm not going to deny it. It'd be better for everyone if you just stayed away from me, bluerider."

"I meant no harm, L'yown-"

L'yown shook his head.

"Just leave me alone, T'yib, and things will be fine."

T'yib nodded and, shoving his hands back into his pockets, walked away, L'yown's words trailing after him.


End file.
